After a conversation with an individual met while traveling:
I saw his teeth and ?he picaresque expression with which he took a jump on history, I felt the squeeze of his hands and, like a distant murmur, the protocolar salute of farewell…. In spite of his words, I now knew… I will be with the people, and I know it because I see it etched in the night that I, the eclectic dissector of doctrines and psychoanalyst of dogmas, howling like one possessed, will assault the barricades or trenches, will bathe my weapon in blood and, mad with fury, will slit the throat of any enemy who falls into my hands.
And I see, as if an enormous tiredness shoots down my recent exaltation, how I die as a sacrifice to the true standardizing revolution of wills, pronouncing the exemplary mea culpa. And I feel my nostrils dilated, tasting the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood, of dead enemy; now my body contorts, ready for the fight, and I prepare my being as if it were a sacred place so that in it the bestial howling of the triumphant proletariat can resonate with vibrations and new hopes.